Death in Damascus: A 1920s Murder Mystery with Heathcliff Lennox

by Karen Baugh Menuhin

  He had a habit of speaking in statements.

  ‘I assume you want Swift and I to solve the murder of Josephine?’

  ‘I remind you, I have given you this task. See that it is completed by midnight tomorrow.’

  How the hell were we supposed to do that? I almost uttered but stopped myself because babbling wouldn’t help.

  I switched tack. ‘You loved her, didn’t you?’

  He stiffened, I sensed his sudden unease.

  ‘She was beautiful, but one doesn’t love women. They are playthings. Ornaments.’

  ‘You wanted her for your harem,’ I said into the semi-darkness.

  He laughed again; a throaty laugh, deep in the chest. ‘This is not the Middle Ages, Major, we do not have harems.’

  ‘Just a number of wives?’

  ‘It is our duty. A wealthy man should support as many women and children as our culture allows.’

  I was about to deviate into the keeping of numerous wives and my personal thoughts on the subject, but decided it wasn’t advisable in the circumstances.

  ‘Did Josephine agree to be a ‘wife’?’ I asked.

  ‘She did not disagree,’ he replied. I noted the uncertainty in his voice.

  ‘Did you tell her the secret of the oil?’ I asked.

  He laughed without humour. ‘Women have no place in men’s business.’

  I deduced that meant no.

  ‘Why wait for us to reveal the killer? I thought you knew everything that happened in this city?’

  ‘Spies and assassins are adept at hiding their deeds. My men have failed to watch as closely as they should. They have paid for their failings.’

  ‘Ah.’ That gave me pause. ‘You do know that Josephine murdered the lawyer?’

  ‘Enough. You have your orders, Major Lennox. Do not fail me.’ He stepped out of the window, which considering we were two stories up, stopped me in mid-breath.

  I strode over to the wide-open frame to see him being lowered to the ground by a rope with a foot-loop tied at the end. I leaned out and looked up. There were men in black on the roof. They were holding the rope and, even as I watched, tossed it down to Qarsan, then disappeared into the night.

  I closed the windows with a bang, followed by the shutters and dropped the latch to secure them. Why on earth didn’t he just come through the door? He owned the place after all. I suppose he preferred to keep to the shadows, or some such.

  ‘Fogg,’ I called. He came out and I gave him a reassuring hug, lit the lamps, then sat on the bed. Now what?

  Something in the back of my mind had been bothering me all evening, but the question over Persi and Langton had distracted me. I went to the ornate table I’d been using as my desk and took out my notebook. I hadn’t written very much in it, unlike Swift, who’d almost constructed a novel.

  I moved aside the photos Greggs had given me, then paused and put them back in the centre of the table. Despite the ribbon, it was a very flattering photograph of Foggy, probably the best I had, actually. I turned it over, Bruce had stamped his name on the back in black ink. I looked more closely at the images.

  That was it, the photographs!

  It didn’t take long to run up to the room being used by the Vincents, I knocked on the door – nothing. I put my ear to the door – still nothing. I decided they were probably downstairs. It was locked, but I had my lock picks, which had survived my drenching in the canal. I was listening carefully for that quiet ‘clunk’ of the cylinder when someone hissed in my ear.

  ‘Sir, sir, you must desist.’

  ‘Greggs, what the devil are you doing?’

  ‘This is not your room, sir.’ He swayed.

  ‘I know,’ I turned around to hiss back. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘A sssmidgeon, sir. It was strong liquor.’ He giggled. ‘But most excellent and to be highly recommended.’ He started noisily humming some sort of tune.

  ‘Greggs, I’m busy. Go to bed, there’s a good chap.’

  ‘I’d like to thank you, sir, for my very, very, very… um.’ He paused to cudgel his addled brain. ‘Very good holiday, sir.’ He swayed some more. He was quite dishevelled actually, bow-tie askew, shirt front escaping and stiff collar wilted.

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it, now go away,’ I whispered more firmly.

  ‘There were dancing girls, sir. We danced too, with the girls, you know, and they had veils. And they took them off slowly, while…’ He suddenly raised his arms above his head and did a slow, unsteady twirl.

  I paused to watch. ‘Greggs.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ He stopped in mid-twirl.

  ‘If you would just wait here for one minute, I’ll take you to your room.’

  He carried on humming under his breath. ‘Very well, sir.’

  I unlocked the door as he recommenced his unsteady pirouette. It was hardly a surreptitious break-in.

  It didn’t take a minute to grab the photographs I’d seen in Vincent’s briefcase and I exited with them tucked into my inside pocket. Greggs was lying flat on his back, snoring on the floor. Damn.

  I stepped over him, thinking to leave him where he was, then had second thoughts and grabbed him. He was a hell of a weight, I had to drag him under the arms. I was barely able to catch a breath by the time I got him as far as the stairs.

  ‘Lennox! Good God, is Greggs hurt?’ Swift emerged from the darkness.

  ‘Of course not. He’s just drunk.’

  ‘Greggs is drunk?’

  ‘Swift, will you stop making pointless statements and help?’

  ‘Right.’ He took Greggs under one shoulder while I hoisted him by the other and we manhandled him to his room. He was singing by the time we rolled him, fully clothed, onto the bed. We shut the door and left him to it.

  ‘What are you doing out here, Swift?’ I asked him once I’d got my breath back.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he replied. ‘It’s been going over and over in my mind – there’s something we’ve missed, but I can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘Come on,’ I said.

  ‘You know?’ He stood staring after me.

  ‘Yes.’ I headed in the direction of my room.

  ‘Right.’ He tightened the belt of his trench coat and followed.

  ‘Here, see.’ I spread the glossy photographs across the ornate table. There were half a dozen or more photographs of each person and I placed them so that everyone of relevance was represented; Dreadnaught, Josephine, Bing, Beatrice.

  He picked them up one at a time before turning them over. ‘There are more of Beatrice than the others.’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded.

  ‘Who took the photographs of her?’

  ‘It wasn’t Bruce. He wasn’t with them during the war.’

  ‘So Vincent took them,’ he stated.

  ‘I believe so,’ I replied.

  ‘What do you think happened?’

  I told him. It took quite a lot of telling so I opened the brandy and we discussed the hows and whys into the early hours. When he finally departed to bed, I fell into mine with my little dog snuffling gently beside me.

  Thin lines of sunlight filtered through the shutters the next morning. The ceiling fan whirled slowly in rhythmic circles, making my head hurt. Actually my eyes hurt too. Fogg was sitting on the pillow next to me, wagging his tail and watching me with expectation.

  I’m giving up alcohol.

  I showered and dressed.

  ‘Come on, Foggy,’ I called and we trotted down to the garden while avoiding any human contact, then ran back upstairs again. Jamal was exiting my room as I entered, having deposited a sumptuous tray of breakfast. He bowed, I nodded and we parted without a word. The man was a paragon among factotums.

  ‘Sir.’ Greggs wobbled in just as Fogg and I finished the last eggy toast.


  ‘Aspirin – next to my bed.’

  ‘Sir, I… I…’

  ‘Serves you right, Greggs, for taking this holiday nonsense too literally.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He was dressed in bowtie and tails but all yesterday’s spiffiness was gone. He looked as though he’d been through the wringer. He swallowed a handful of tablets, washed them down with water and tottered back toward the door. ‘I apologise, sir, for my untoward behaviour.’

  ‘Accepted, old chap, and we are abroad, after all.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He wilted. ‘Can we go home now, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Greggs, I think we can.’

  He closed the door as I turned my mind to contemplate the murderer. The problem was the utter lack of hard evidence. There was nothing that would convict the culprit, so there was only one solution – we had to flush them out. But I didn’t have the faintest idea how.

  ‘Ready?’ Swift walked in without knocking.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to work something out, because I’ve told them to gather on the terrace.’

  ‘Swift, I’ve only just had breakfast!’

  ‘So has everyone else.’ He eyed me with his hawkish gaze. ‘Are you sure about this, Lennox?’

  ‘Well…’ I was ready to prevaricate.

  ‘Look, if we don’t catch the aeroplane this afternoon we’ll be stuck here for another three days at least.’

  ‘Oh, in that case…’ I stood up.

  ‘Come on,’ he tightened the belt of his trench coat and led the way.

  Colonel Fontaine was waiting in the courtyard with his sergeant and a number of gendarmes. They followed us through to the terrace and lined up at the back.

  The Vincents had taken centre stage, or the centre of the group anyway. They sat next to one another in wicker chairs on the terrace. Dreadnaught was on one side and Harry Bing, clutching Napoleon, on the other. Genevieve sat close to him, with a very stiff-backed Lady Maitland beside her.

  Langton was seated next to Dreadnaught, making for an interesting contrast between the blond German and the dark-haired Englishman. Persi was nearest to Langton, she gave me a hesitant smile as I arrived, which I returned with as much confidence as I could muster. I hadn’t had time to reflect on our discussions of last evening, but they weren’t far from my mind.

  I realised there were a number of hostile stares directed at me.

  ‘Greetings,’ I hailed them through the mists of my hangover.

  ‘Major Lennox,’ Lady Maitland pierced me with a steely eye. ‘Inspector Swift has informed us that you are about to reveal the murderer of Josephine Belvoir. I find the idea ridiculous.’

  ‘Laughable, more like,’ Langton sniped.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Persi cut in, ‘I’ve seen Heathcliff unveil a murderer before. He has a talent for it. Don’t be so disparaging, Charles.’

  All eyes turned to her, she blushed but held her chin up in defiance. I grinned, the day had suddenly taken on a rosy glow and I didn’t even mind her calling me Heathcliff.

  ‘Sir.’ Greggs doddered in, still the worse for wear. ‘You left these on your desk. I thought you may require them.’ He held out the photographs Swift and I had been poring over last night.

  ‘Thank you, old chap.’

  He went to sit at the rear.

  I smiled at Persi again, she smiled back. I stumbled over a low table that some idiot had left in the way, righted it and placed the photographs on its surface.

  Swift hissed. ‘Lennox, get on with it. We’ll miss the damn plane at this rate.’

  ‘Right,’ I straightened up.

  They looked at me, I looked at them. Fogg went to sit at Bing’s feet from where he could touch noses with Napoleon.

  ‘Right,’ I said again. ‘One of you killed Josephine Belvoir.’

  ‘Yeah, it was Bing, we saw him do it,’ Vincent growled. ‘And if you don’t…’

  Genevieve instantly interrupted. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Someone switched the guns.’

  ‘No, it was not so,’ Fontaine joined in, in his cool manner. ‘It was the magazines that were switched, not the guns.’

  ‘You are both right.’ I paused to put my thoughts in order. ‘But, that was later, much later. Because this is a story about love and betrayal, and a loss that could not be borne.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Dear boy, could you refrain from these dramatics,’ Mammie said in her soft southern accent. ‘I have sent Bruce to pack our equipment, but I simply must be there to help.’

  ‘Yeah, we got a plane to catch and we all know Bing did it,’ Vincent interrupted again. I held up my hand to stop him.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Josephine Belvoir was murdered with Charles Langton’s gun.’ I strolled in front of them, turned about then wandered back. ‘An attempt had already been made on her life. Someone dressed in Langton’s clothes, slipped on his shoes and took a clumsy shot at Josephine. They missed.’

  ‘Who says it wasn’t Langton?’ Vincent disputed.

  ‘It was Langton,’ Dreadnaught cut in. ‘The bath-draw boy said he saw him.’

  ‘No, it was the guard,’ Mammie interrupted.

  ‘The bath-draw boy was the guard before he was demoted,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, yes, this is so, but he did see Langton,’ Dreadnaught argued.

  ‘The bath-draw boy is an entirely unreliable witness,’ Swift countered. ‘He saw someone pretending to be Langton.’

  ‘I am here, you know,’ Langton spoke in exasperated tone.

  Fontaine joined in from the rear. ‘You lied about being at the souk at the time of the attempt.’

  ‘I was searching for the tomb-robber,’ Langton said. ‘I could hardly admit that to you.’

  ‘You have no proof of that,’ Fontaine replied.

  ‘According to Persi’s flying Major, he’s going to provide it.’ Langton sat back and folded his arms.

  ‘Right.’ It was tempting to just pin it on bloody Langton and go home, but I carried on. ‘We know the murderer stole Langton’s gun because it was used to shoot and kill Josephine.’

  ‘Are you saying Harry did it because…’ Genevieve entered the fray.

  ‘No, I’m not, will you all stop interrupting!’ I shouted.

  ‘Lennox, will you get a move on,’ Swift hissed.

  ‘I’m doing it!’ I replied then took a breath to slow down and explain. ‘The original gun was a Colt 45, it was hidden and replaced with Langton’s Kongsberg-Colt some days later – I assume this was to cause confusion. Langton’s gun was then used to murder Josephine. We know how it was done, but not why?’ I said. ‘A question that has been almost impossible to answer because everything has been shrouded with mystery and lies.’

  ‘Sir?’ Greggs handed me a glass of water with a dash of bicarbonate.

  ‘Thank you, Greggs.’ He really was a most excellent chap. I took a sip and continued. ‘The mystery was caused by the quest for oil, or rather its whereabouts. That is the reason you are all here, not to make movies. The film crew was a cover for Midhurst to negotiate with Qarsan, isn’t that right, Mammie?’

  ‘I think you know this, dear boy.’ She smiled, she seemed to be enjoying the show. ‘And we did make the film!’

  I nodded and carried on. ‘The American Government sent you, just as they had during the war. But the war is over and old allegiances have changed. Josephine was here on behalf of the French Government, and she had her own plans.’ I turned toward Fontaine. ‘I imagine her reward for finding the map in Hanno’s house was almost unlimited. She persuaded you to work with her, didn’t she Colonel, to make sure that reward was secured.’

  ‘Are you pretending I killed the woman to gain this ‘reward’ for myself?’ Fontaine’s brow creased in a frown.

  ‘It’s possible,’ I suggested. ‘If you
had killed her, the secret to the oil would be yours.’

  ‘This idea is risible. My work here is to keep the peace.’

  ‘But you helped Josephine? She asked you to introduce her to Qarsan,’ I conjectured.

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ he finally admitted. ‘I was forced to enter this playground, but the situation is not quite as simple as you think, Major. We French took control of this region only eighteen months ago. Even then, there were rumours of oil in the desert. Men were sent out to Arabia to search for these ‘tar seeps’ as they were called. They never returned.’ He paused, nobody moved as we waited for him to continue.

  ‘The man who held this post before me was a hard, ambitious man. He subdued this city by harsh means until there was no more cooperation, no-one willing to collaborate or to inform. We French had become tyrants and the citizens hated us. So I was sent here to form a new order.’ He paused as though unwilling to divulge information. ‘Sheik Qarsan was the key to peace. I knew this and, little by little, he and I began to understand each other. But then there was the oil and I realised this man was playing his own game, not only with us, but the British and their allies, the Americans, too.’

  ‘He made us compete,’ Lady Maitland interrupted.

  ‘He wanted the medallion,’ I added.

  Fontaine nodded. ‘Yes, my government offered riches, gold even, but he wanted his Phoenician history and it was held by the British. Even Josephine couldn’t entice him from his desire.’

  Lady Maitland suddenly laughed, which caused everyone gaze at her. ‘He will have it all in the end.’

  ‘Hum,’ I turned back to Fontaine. ‘Langton had the medallion and Josephine needed it. Did you collaborate with her to have him jailed?’

  ‘Non, and there was no need. He attempted to kill her and I interned him in the Embassy.’

  ‘Langton?’ I turned to him.

  ‘Utter rot. She set me up and he locked me up.’

  ‘Non, you lie!’ Fontaine snapped in anger. ‘She swore you tried to kill her and I believed it. And I continue to believe it.’

  Langton regarded him, intelligence in his eyes. ‘Are you saying someone really did try to kill Josephine that day?’